


Happy Eighteenth

by MusicLover19



Series: The Menstruation Bonding [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Made Myself Cry, I cried writing this, Oh boy where to start, Trans Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski, unintentional misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicLover19/pseuds/MusicLover19
Summary: On Stiles' eighteenth birthday, his dad gives him a letter. One that his mother had written before her death. Stiles held the letter in his hands, scared to reveal the contents.





	Happy Eighteenth

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, there is misgendering as a part of the letter. Stiles hadn't come out to his mom, so it is all unintentional, but it does make Stiles' thoughts spiral a little more than just a letter wold normally. Be aware of that, and keep yourselves safe. And if anyone wants to cry with me about this, because oh boy do I have feelings! I am more than happy to talk and sob together.

Stiles hadn’t moved since his dad had left. He still had the letter in his hand, scared and unsure whether he wanted to know what the inside said. He couldn’t throw it away though. That wasn’t even an option. His mother had written this. He would rather sacrifice himself to the Nemeton before he threw the letter away.

His dad had been wary about giving it to him, which Stiles understood. She didn’t know. Stiles had never gotten the chance to come out to her, to let her know that her – Stiles never really showed his mom his true self. He never had the chance, and he really didn’t want to see his old name staring back at him.

Stiles sighed. He would never be prepared for that. It would always hurt, no matter how long he tried to let himself come to terms with it. Deciding to get it over with, Stiles took care opening the letter. He wanted to preserve it as much as possible. Just because of who is had come from. Even as he opened it, Stiles could hear his dad’s voice reminding him that Claudia wouldn’t care, and if she was still there, she would have loved Stiles no matter what. Who he loved, who he was, she would have been proud of her child, and no misgendering in that letter would change it. Her not knowing the truth wasn’t her rejecting him. Which Stiles knew, but it was nice to be reminded all the same. It made him feel slightly readier to face the contents. Her not knowing wasn’t a rejection, he just needed to repeat that in his mind.

** _My Darling, Stiles,_ **

Stiles paused, re-reading the first line, his heart already beating faster than he could imagine. He didn’t remember his mom using that name, had he already started going by Stiles before she went into the hospital? Why didn’t he remember?

** _Do you still use that name? I remember vividly the day that you decided you would only answer to Stiles. You had a list and I_ ** ** _’m sure you would have had a full presentation if we had let you. I did struggle, we had chosen a beautiful name, but your wishes triumphed anything. You could have asked we only call you Bob the Builder and we would have gone with it as much as we could (you loved that show, always wanting to fix things around the house despite how much destruction you caused), although I doubt school would be happy with that!_ **

** _I remember bringing you home, my adorable baby girl. You grew up so fast and I wish I could relive it. I hate to think I_ ** ** _’m losing some of the memories of you. I hope you know that I don’t want that, that I would love to keep them all and treasure them until I pass. I remember you, I remember when you first spoke (you scared Noah half to death since it was out of nowhere!), when you walked (the house was never the same when you got onto two feet), even when you started to crawl (the fear we felt as new parents was something truly incredible), you were and are our little hooligan, always getting into mischief. I am sorry I had to go. I’m going to try not to cry again, even though it is hard. I don’t want to be upset, I want to hold onto the good times with us._ **

** _If Noah listened to me, then you_ ** ** _’re turning eighteen. Happy Birthday! I know I’ve missed a few, but I hope this is something nice and not too depressing on the day for you. I do hope your father is looking after himself. I worry how he’ll take this. I know he is struggling already. Your father was the love of my life, and I know that is overbearingly cheesy, you hated me talking like that. I hope you get to experience that feeling though. I hope you find your other half, the person that fits you so well that you wonder how you were ever able to live without them. It is truly special. Hopefully, your father will forget his guns though, we wouldn’t want to scare them away._ **

** _I hate the fact I even have to write this, that I know I won_ ** ** _’t be there for you. I have cried a lot over that realisation, it hurts so much that I cannot see the person you will grow into. I cannot see you fall in love, what job you pick, what school you pick. I wish I could be there for every bit of pain you go through. To be able to comfort you, hold you in my arms and feed you all the ice cream and curly fries you could ever as for. I will do my very best. I don’t know if you remember, but we did talk about the afterlife, I wonder if your views changed. No matter what, I will fight everyone for the chance to watch you grow up._ **

** _You, my wonderful little daughter (although not too little now I suppose), I love you. I wish I could say that more. That I could write it a million times, that I could kiss you and just hold you close to me until time ended. I love you. No matter what, I am proud of you, of who you are and what you do. You could turn into a wolf and I wouldn_ ** ** _’t love you any less._ **

** _I should stop my rambling here, but it is so hard to. I had a horrible thought that you might have forgotten me, it will have been a while, and I don_ ** ** _’t know what will happen as I get worse. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if someone happened to you because of me. I hope you are never around for another bad day. I hope what you have already seen hasn’t tainted the memories of me. Maybe that is a selfish wish. I cannot help but hold onto it though, I want to be a happy memory and not a sad one._ **

** _You came to see me today. Noah even managed to visit. You were so happy, and I couldn_ ** ** _’t help but feel guilty. I don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve seen me for who I am, or was. The nurses won’t tell me how long I’ve been here, or how often I’m lucid, only that you’re here every day. That you see me every day and that you do your homework and tell me all about your day. I am sorry I don’t remember them, I wish I could treasure everything you’ve said to me, every moment about your life. I will watch you as often as I can, and I promise that nothing you do will be anything less than what you are meant for. You are so special, more so than you could possibly know. Stiles, you are my light, the spark that brightened up my life and I know that you’ll only brighten up everybody around you._ **

** _I love you Stiles._ **

** _Your Mom, Claudia Stilinski._ **

Stiles stared at the pages a moment longer. He wanted to simultaneously treasure them and destroy each mention of _her_. He wanted to smile, he had smiled at several points in the letter, but the tears had started. Stiles didn’t even know when the tears had begun, when his eyes had blurred and his nose had started to run. Stiles moved the pages out of reach and wiped his eyes.

It hurt. He did miss her. Every single day, even if the pain dulled, she was always just a thought away. The letter was just like his mom, a little all over the place but so full of feeling. There were parts of the letter where the ink had run, wet patches that could only make Stiles wonder how much his mom had cried over the thought of dying. The thought of her crying over him hurt, especially because it wasn’t over _him_, it was over his past self, the girl that wasn’t really there. Stiles wanted to believe his mother would love him, she had said ‘_whoever and whatever_’, and even that he could turn into a wolf and not be loved any less, but that fear was still present.

Stiles held onto his dad’s words tightly, wrapping them around his heart and trying to hold back that fear. _Just because she didn__’t know you fully doesn’t mean that she rejects you. She loves you so much kiddo, you know that. _He did know it, he still remembered small moments with his mom that she had told Stiles how much she loved him, her _baby. _She had told him that she didn’t care who he loved, especially that day Stiles had come home demanding that they let him marry Lydia - something his dad loves to remind Stiles of. It made Stiles hopeful, in the strangest way. His mom was open-minded, but homosexuality and being transgender were two completely different things. He had heard of other people that had parents who accepted their sexuality but not their gender. He felt too hopeful to think his mom wouldn’t be like that.

Stiles’ dad hadn’t taken it brilliantly to start with. He tried, but Stiles knew that he was confused and that he struggled. Stiles hadn’t taken it personally, at least his dad was trying, and he had gone out of his way to educate himself. That didn’t mean that Stiles missed the side glances and the worried frowns that were sent his way. Thankfully, as the time went on, those frowns and glances faded and his dad embraced Stiles as the boy he was. His mom didn’t have that chance, and Stiles felt wrong for assuming she would be fine.

Stiles still remembered his dad’s sad confession when Stiles had started hormones. He talked about how he felt he had lost a part of Stiles’ life that he didn’t even know he was aware of. Stiles knew his dad didn’t mean any harm, and Stiles wanted to know what his dad thought. It had ended in them both hugging each other, holding the other close as they cried and it was truly helpful for his dad. It had been rough to hear his dad talk about missing the chance to walk Stiles down the aisle on his wedding day, how Stiles might not have a child or even want a normal relationship. Mostly, his dad was worried about how much more difficult Stiles’ life had just gotten, how his future was uncertain and how he would probably live his life in a constant state of worry. It had been soothing for Stiles to hear, to understand how his dad accepted him so thoroughly, even if he did miss the chance at Stiles’ old future. Stiles, through his own tears, had reminded his dad that he could adopt and still have his dad involved in a wedding if he did get married. He even added, as clearly as the words were smushed against his dad's shoulder, that his life was never going to be easy anyhow, not for someone as annoying as him.

Stiles needed to know that his mother would have had the same acceptance. No matter how selfish that need was.

** _Stiles; I need you. No things, just you please?_ **

** _Peter; I_ ** ** _’ll be there in a little while._ **

Stiles didn’t quite know what to do with himself when Peter’s response came through. He just pulled the letter closer once again and re-read it. Once he had done, he wiped his eyes and re-read it another time. The cycle not stopping until Peter was next to Stiles, already pulling the boy into his arms and shushing him quietly. When Stiles’ tears had turned into sobs, he wasn’t sure, he just knew that he wanted his mom more than ever right at that moment. As nice as it was for Peter to hold him, he wanted the person he hadn’t seen for so long, the person he would never see again.

“It’s ok,” Peter said quietly, he paid no attention to anything other than Stiles, who was shaking in his arms. Peter gently rubbed Stiles’ back, “I’m here, let it all out, it’s ok,” he spoke the words softly, easing Stiles’ shakes with every murmur. Peter eased Stiles up, pulling him close. The tight hold on Peter’s shirt refused to budge as Peter’s hand continued to rub Stiles’ back. It was comforting for the teen, it helped bridge a bit of the gaping hole in his chest.

Stiles didn’t know how long he stayed in Peter’s hold, it was long enough for his head to start pounding, and his eyes to burn. His tears had dried, and the few gasped cries were settling into something more manageable. He still struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving with how much he had cried for his mom.

“That’s it,” Petter murmured.

Stiles wished he could hear his mom’s voice, hear her say the words she had written. Perhaps that would have made the delivery easer - he knew it was a lie, nothing would have made it easier, and hearing her voice would have broken him sooner than the words on the page did.

“Whoever made you cry on your birthday -”

Stiles’ sob interpreted what would probably have been a death threat. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and Stiles hoped that Peter would say it. A bitter part of Stiles’ mind wanted to sneer that Peter couldn’t pick up his grief and yet managed to pick up his hormones at the most inopportune time.

“They must have been special,” Peter continued. “Do you want to talk about them?”

Stiles shook his head, he hadn’t spoken about his mom in a long time, not really. He had mentioned her in passing, used her memory against his dad in ways that ashamed him to recall, but to reminisce was harder. To point out that she was truly gone was torturous.

“She left a letter,” Stiles managed to stutter out, his heart was racing and his chest was still heaving, but he was determined. He owed her that much. “My mom, she - it’s stupid, I’m sorry I -”

“Don’t,” Peter protested, holding Stiles at arm's length. He met his eyes and waited for a second before continuing. “I am sure I would be in a worse mental state if I had something similar.”

It was such an honest statement, the most emotionally venerable that Peter had ever been with Stiles - with anyone. if Stiles had to bet on it.

“I miss her,” Stiles admitted as he looked away from the man, hoping that Peter wouldn’t think less of him. It had been years, Stiles felt like he should have moved on already.

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

Stiles met Peter’s eyes again, realising that he understood. He knew on some level Peter would have understood, but seeing the evidence in front of him was different. Peter hadn’t only lost one person, he had lost his whole family. He had been alone in his grief, trapped within himself quite literally.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Peter asked again, taking a seat and gesturing for Stiles to do the same.

“I don’t want to think about the bad things,” Stiles admitted, fearing that if he started to talk, he would recount the bad moments in hospital more than the person his mom had been before.

“Then don’t say them,” Peter said, as if it was that simple. “Tell me about a time before the bad, or even a time in between the bad. You shouldn’t stay silent just because things went bad, remember her as you want to. I could tell you so many stories about how frustrating Talia was, and how I wanted her dead, but they aren’t my main focus when I think of her. I remember how strong-willed she was, how protective. I remember how much she babied Derek until he refused to be her perfect child anymore. I even remember how strong she was in those final moments, it was her and I against the terror and pain our family felt. If you need to talk about the bad, then accept it, but do not leave her as only the bad.”

Stiles’ lip wobbled, and his eyes blurred as tears once again filled them. He nodded, hating how much he had needed to hear the words. He had tried to remember his mom in her better days, but the bad ones had always followed, taunting him and warping his view of her. He didn’t want a tainted memory.

“She would always make me a cake for my birthday,” Stiles began, knowing that his words would become overcome with emotion soon enough. He hoped that Peter would still let him stutter and cry his way through his words as he tried to tell the story. “If I ended up at school, she would always ring up and say I was sick. She would do the same for my dad too. She said birthdays were special, that it was something shared between people who cared so much for each other and she didn’t want me sharing it with anyone that didn’t care about me. We would eat the whole cake and even make another one for when dad got home. She made them special.” Stiles didn’t want to think about how his birthdays after his mom’s death had been lacking, he wanted to focus on her. “We would always eat too much junk food, and she would always smile when I offered her some of my sweets. She never refused to take them, and I heard her tell dad that it was because I cared enough to share so she would happily take the stomachache that followed.”

“It sounds like a special memory,” Peter said, taking Stiles’ hand.

“It was, which is silly, we didn’t do anything, we just ate junk and watched cartoons but it is the best thing I remember, especially when dad managed to join us. It felt real, like nothing else mattered but us,” Stiles’ voice faded, and he had to blink to remind himself where he was. For a second he thought he saw his mom behind Peter, and he could almost imagine her humming as she made the cake mix, but as quick as the image came to him, it disappeared.

Stiles wanted to ask Peter if he thought that his mom would have accepted him, but he knew that Peter wouldn’t be honest in his answer, not about that. Or perhaps Stiles was scared to hear Peter’s answer, if Peter thought his mom wouldn’t accept it, then Stiles knew that nothing else would convince him, but if Peter thought his mom would accept him, Stiles knew he wouldn’t believe it. He would think Peter was lying to make Stiles feel better, to ease the pain.

“She would be proud of you,” Peter offered. “Anyone in their right mind would be proud of you.”

Stiles gave Peter a weak smile, his hand leaning out of the letter. Peter didn’t ask when Stiles pulled it close, holding it to his chest, nor did he question when a few stray tears fell down Stiles’ cheeks.

“I’m not the best at making cakes,” Peter admitted, “I can be a good helper though.”

Stiles let out a surprised laugh. He hadn’t had cake on his birthday since the one before his mom was in the hospital. Felling the paper in his hands, he wondered how it would taste. Peter would be there for him, even if Stiles couldn’t bring himself to try it.


End file.
